


It Was Everything

by Rinari7



Category: Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Blood, Close call, F/F, Mention of physical injury, Nightmares, Not A Happy Ending, Roommates, Year of Hell, near-death, tasting blood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-26
Updated: 2016-12-26
Packaged: 2018-09-12 05:34:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,714
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9057904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rinari7/pseuds/Rinari7
Summary: Year of Hell, skeleton crew, sharing a cabin, nightmares, desperate situations push people together. I'm sure you can figure out how this goes.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Apparently my brain hears "Christmas" and thinks "smut" and "Year of Hell" and "do that really bittersweet angsty vague thing you love to do."  
> ...you're welcome?

It was a habit, more than anything else. They weren't often in their shared cabin at the same time, and if they were, it was one stumbling in a few hours after the other, tumbling tired and grimy into bed. Seven never snuggled, but B’Elanna did, nestling her forehead against her bedmate’s shoulder, inhaling deeply with a contented little purr, even in her sleep, and pressing herself close. Seven, for her part, draped an arm loosely over the half-Klingon, and some of the tension that practically seemed inherent to her being left her.

Nobody remarked on the fact that they didn't argue any more. They were all too tired to argue — Seven especially, now that she no longer had use of her alcove. Energy was a rare commodity for Voyager now.

B’Elanna was far tidier than Ensign Brooks had ever even attempted to be. And when she did leave her shoes in the middle of the floor on occasion, Seven was used to avoiding debris in the charred corridors anyways.

Originally, they had just accepted that they would share accomodations. Consolidate, spare resources, that was the order of the day. The captain was the captain, of course, though she was now living in standard crewmember’s quarters, and Tuvok lived alone as well, but Harry and Neelix were also sharing a cabin. Another bed had been brought in, and Seven and B’Elanna had neatly divided up the space, and the only showers that worked were in the decontamination area, so that hadn't been an issue. Neither really had any personal belongings to speak of.

Having been forced to accommodate herself to sleeping, Seven was used to waking in a cold sweat, afraid, for a split second, that she was awakening from the oblivion of the assimilation process. Entering and leaving regeneration was instantaneous, not this slow reorientation.

What came more often now were the true nightmares. They were drifting, until the engines could be repaired, vulnerable to any Borg that happened by. Except now the ones who came to take her could wear the faces of Voyager’s crew — and they would wear them, and take her, and force her to take others again, her mind whispered to her in the dark.

Then, she awoke with a half-strangled cry, more often than not to see her cabinmate sit up as well, blinking, adrenaline and the low light blowing her pupils wide. “What's happening?”

“I am sorry, Lieutenant,” Seven always said, panting. “I… have experienced an unpleasant dream, that is all.”

Slowly relaxing again, B’Elanna would utter some noncommittal noise, perhaps of sympathy, perhaps simply disgruntled, and lie down again. But Seven sensed her gaze on her, until she fell asleep again.

Other times, it was B’Elanna who cried out. When Seven was wrenched from sleep, it was usually to the sound of a name, repeated, or multiple names. Those of Chakotay and the captain, Harry Kim and Tom Paris, Vorik and Nicoletti, and several Klingon, Bajoran, and human names Seven didn't recognize.

Seven never responded, simply listening, until they eventually stopped. Inwardly, she questioned the actual efficiency of sharing quarters.

Neither slept very well, most nights.

The first time, it was an accident, nothing more. Seven would learn later that B’Elanna had been thrown, hit in the head with wreckage from a console, when Voyager had nosed none-too-gently against a stray comet, and so she had likely collapsed on the first bed she saw inside the cabin. But all Seven knew that morning — evening, midnight, whenever it was that she woke; since her internal chronometer was designed to sync with the alcove periodically, it no longer functioned well, another casualty of the Krenim — was that she was not alone in her bed, and that she had slept better than she could recall having been the case for several weeks.

She lingered, for a few moments, until it became apparent B’Elanna wasn't about to awaken, and then left to begin repairs on the ventilation system in deflector control.

They weren't alone again together for two days, until Seven nearly collided with B’Elanna in the corridor in front of their cabin.

“You are about to prepare to sleep?”

“That's what beds are usually for,” B’Elanna retorted as she sat on the edge of her mattress, pulling off her shoes.

Inhaling, straightening imperceptibly, Seven clasped her hands behind her back. “I would like to request to sleep with you.”

B’Elanna stilled, suddenly eyeing Seven with no small measure of misgiving. “Is this some kind of ‘I want to do it before I die’ thing? I'm sure Harry would be more than happy to help.”

“To what are you referring? I merely wish to sleep beside you.”

B’Elanna’s cheeks reddened slightly. “Oh. Well, why would you want to do that?”

Seven tilted her head. “You assumed I was using the informal Earth term for engaging in intercourse?”

“Yes, Seven, I did.” Exasperation underlined her words. “Why do you want to share a bed with me?”

“I — when you fell asleep beside me, before, I found that my sleep had been more restful. I am aware that warmth and physical proximity to others can have positive psychological effects, but I had not previously believed them to be this pronounced. I would like to experiment to ensure that the cause was, indeed, your proximity, as a possible measure to improve the quality of both of our —”

B’Elanna growled softly, laying back and throwing the blanket to the foot of the bed, an almost violent invitation. “You know what, I'm too tired for this. In or out, I don’t actually care. If it means I get more sleep…”

So Seven climbed stiffly into the bed beside her, and lay straight and unmoving so as not to disturb her, and listened to B’Elanna’s breathing until she fell asleep as well.

She awoke the next morning to find B’Elanna partially draped over her, one leg between hers and fingers curled over her shoulder and breath hot on the skin of her neck. Seven extricated herself gently, to a few soft sounds of protest, and wondered why it made her heart flutter.

She was the first to bed that night, and woke only once, to B’Elanna crawling under the covers beside her, and they never spoke about it again.

There were still nightmares, but whispered reassurances and steady warmth and hugs that were more a desperate clinging than an embrace chased some away entirely, and made the others fade far sooner.

 

It was a habit, more than anything else. One of B’Elanna’s, to slip a hand between her legs and bite her lip until it bled and indulge in one of the few pleasures left to her, on those nights when she wasn't so tired as to immediately fall asleep. One of Seven's, to enter her — their — quarters without a thought that someone might be there — for that was usually not the case. It was really only inevitable...

Seven stopped short in the doorway, taking it in: the way B’Elanna panted, tense, digging her teeth into her lower lip, eyes shut tightly; the scent of sweat and soot and lust, not pleasant but somehow still heady, making her want to inhale deeply; how Seven’s own heart began to beat a little faster.

B’Elanna sat up, visibly swallowing, and quickly closed her legs. “Seven!” Her voice was low, half a growl, unsteady.

“B’Elanna.” Seven inclined her head, swallowing. “I am — unsure of the proper procedure for this situation.”

“Usually roommates try to give one another a little privacy.” B’Elanna sounded as if she were having some difficulty speaking as she slowly removed her hand, instead gripping her knee tightly.

“Should I retreat to the restroom for the duration of the activity?”

“Kahless!” It was a groan, as B’Elanna turned onto her side, stretching out and clutching the pillow. “Never mind. Just get in bed — to sleep,” she added as an afterthought.

After a moment's pause, Seven made her way towards the bed. Stiffly, she draped an arm over B’Elanna’s midsection, her fingers brushing over heated skin, and felt B’Elanna shifting, arching into her, with a muted groan. Seven tensed, her skin tingling, and found herself inhaling shakily after seeming to have forgotten how.

It had been hours, it felt, though it likely hadn’t, and neither of them slept. B’Elanna wanted to shout, to moan, either to run or to turn over and fucking ravish this woman who had taken her by surprise more times than she cared to admit. This hadn't been the first such time Seven's image had flashed across her mind’s eye, nor even the first she'd guiltily coaxed it back, to enjoy.

She heard Seven inhale, deeply, and then her breath whispered over her ear. “B’Elanna?”

“Yes?” She kept her voice low, but it still sounded as raw and pleading as she felt.

Seven spoke haltingly, not breathlessly, but almost. “I would like to request to sleep with you.”

She tensed, hot and cold and wanting. “Are you sure?”

“Yes. I — find myself very much desiring to —”

“Do _not_ say ‘copulate.’”

B’Elanna turned, twisting, pressing her lips to Seven's with more care than she would have believed herself capable of at that moment. Seven let out a muted noise of surprise, and then followed B’Elanna’s lead, eagerly opening her mouth and tasting the half-Klingon’s lips with her tongue.

She was not skilled, but B’Elanna was still growling, in the base of her throat, panting. “Seven, I want to bite you. Please. Kahless, you smell —” She was babbling, words failing her, but Seven arched her neck to offer her shoulder, breathing heavily herself as she spoke.

“I have read that some pain can enhance —”

Seven gasped as B’Elanna bit, hard, blood seeping over her tongue, sweet, glorious, and she growled again. Seven dropped her head, her breathing long and heavy, moaning when B’Elanna sucked, whimpering when she laved the spot with her tongue, gasping when she finally lifted her head to lay her forehead against Seven’s. Seven kissed her again, immediately, hungrily, and B’Elanna let her hands drift, down her shoulders, over her back, to pull her closer. Gently, B’Elanna pressed her knee between her legs, and Seven’s hips bucked.

“B’Elanna…” Seven broke the kiss, panting, rocking herself forward again, her eyes bright and dark and beautiful.

“Enjoy it,” B’Elanna whispered, and she felt Seven shudder, and, feeling bold, she drew down the zipper on the biosuit. She lowered her head to Seven's breasts, to nip, kiss, suck, and Seven’s mewls caught in her throat, and she arched towards B’Elanna, offering, pleading, and when she came, it was with a violent shudder and a similarly strangled cry.

“I can find no words to adequately describe the sensation,” Seven murmured, eyes wide, after several moments, and her gaze swept B’Elanna. “Disrobe… please.”

B’Elanna smiled, wryly, as she pulled her shirt over her head. “Not particularly sexy, but efficient.” And maybe the need in that “please,” and the way Seven stared, reaching out hesitantly, almost reverently, more than made up for it.

Some of her hair was falling out of that perfect twist, wisps framing her face, and she seemed intent on caressing every square millimeter of B’Elanna’s skin. The half-Klingon alternately cursed and begged, heat racing through her veins and pulsing under her skin, and when Seven finally slid two fingers inside her, B’Elanna was more than ready to completely fall apart.

As she panted through the aftermath of her orgasm, B’Elanna thought, slightly guiltily, of Tom. Their relationship may have been born of loneliness and an alien species’ experiments — she realized that now, had realized it a while ago, now that he was gone — and maybe this thing wasn’t much better, but it was what she had and what she wanted, and maybe he ought to understand, but still… She resolved to tell him, break up with him properly, if she ever saw him again, and then she sat up.

“Hey, Seven,” and she could feel the lust building again, already, making her want to bare her teeth, and she laughed, and licked her lips. “Lie back and open your legs. You'll enjoy this.”

Perhaps the other crewmembers mistook the faint bite mark on Seven's cheek for more grime, and torn clothing and scrapes was nothing out of the ordinary among the wreckage bristling with sharp edges; no one seemed to notice a change, or at least none remarked on it.

Seven and B’Elanna never spoke of that again, either, but sometimes B’Elanna would bite Seven's shoulder and slowly slide a hand over the remnants of a Borg exoskeleton and under the biosuit, and Seven would tentatively nudge one knee between her legs. B’Elanna came loudly, moaning, or shouting Seven's name. Seven came silently, or with a short gasp, as if even then still striving for control.

 

It was a habit, more than anything else. They didn't talk about Voyager, about their places on the ship, about their respective heritages, about their relationship with the Alpha Quadrant. If they were honest, they still barely talked at all, at least about anything other than repairs, not usually.

“I wish I could express any genuine belief that the crew or the ship will return to Earth,” Seven murmured, one day. Tuvok had reached for the image he kept of his family as she left — not to see, but to run his fingers over and remember. Seven had watched, for a moment, from the doorway, and felt something behind her sternum tighten.

“I hope they make it, for their sakes.” B’Elanna stripped her tank top over her head, not to seduce, but simply to rid herself of one layer of soot and grease, as Seven did the same.

“Not for your own sake?”

“If Voyager gets back to Federation space — I'm a Maquis.” B’Elanna lifted one shoulder as she climbed into bed, adding softly, “Sometimes it’s a little too easy to forget that.”

“I am not enamoured of the idea of returning to Earth myself, but I wish for the happiness and well-being of my Collective — of Voyager and her crew.”

“Don't assimilate me in my sleep, Borg,” B’Elanna murmured, fondly, as she drew the blankets up over both of them.

Seven pressed her lips briefly to B’Elanna’s hair, and tilted her head to rest atop her bedmate’s. “You would not permit that, Klingon as you are.”

“Damn right.” B’Elanna snorted and pressed herself a little closer to the one person she thought might be able to truly understand her.

 

It wasn't really a thing, and they didn't have a name for it, didn't even try. Sometimes, they talked about shield emitters and plasma reactions and inductor coils and circuitry, and sometimes one had a brilliant idea, and sometimes the other took her hand, or kissed her. Sometimes, Seven wondered whether her Borg sensors were malfunctioning, or if B’Elanna was truly already so wet, and when that happened, sometimes B’Elanna nipped her neck and growled at her to get on with it already. Sometimes they just reached for one another, silent, anchor searching for a rock to hold on to.

It wasn't anything, just a collection of habits.

 

It was a habit, more than anything else. Seven thought of B’Elanna often, now.

She wasn't sure when it had begun, precisely. Perhaps when she noticed how stunning B’Elanna was when she emerged from a Jeffries tube, grinning victoriously. Or perhaps when the circuit B’Elanna had been working on suddenly shorted out, and Voyager had unloaded thousands of volts of electricity into her, and it had been fortunate Harry had been speaking with her right then, or else the Doctor never would have been in time to restart her hearts, and Seven thought her own heart had stopped when she heard. Or perhaps it was simply because Seven found herself sleeping fitfully again, now that they were separated among Voyager's allies.

She thought of B'Elanna again, now, knowing she watched the same scene on a different viewscreen, Voyager hurtling towards the timeship, their last hope, a kamikaze, a desperate, courageous wager.

Yet it was not hope that she found closing her throat, but fear.

Seven thought of B’Elanna, and of losing her — no, of never having had her at all, and she couldn't breathe, and the world was ripped apart —

**Author's Note:**

> Never written explicit F/F before and if I should never do so again please tell me.
> 
> Also please do not assume consent once means ongoing consent, and I shudder to think at how unsanitary some of the things outlined here are.  
> Long story short: again I should probably apologize for writing something somewhat problematic.  
> Don't do this at home (or anywhere else for that matter).


End file.
